Apple
by foolondahill17
Summary: He's brilliant and a jokester, and a brilliant jokester – with a bit of an authority complex – Hawkeye Pierce is a senior in high school and wages war on his Anatomy and Physiology teacher. A collection of intertwining one-shots, one for each of the ten months in the school year.
1. September

Title: Apple

Summary: Brilliant, jokester, and brilliant jokester – and with a bit of an authority complex – Hawkeye Pierce is a senior in high school and wages war on his Anatomy and Physiology teacher. A collection of intertwining one-shots, one for each of the ten months in the school year.

Rated: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own M*A*S*H

Dedicated to all of them who teach, and written as a tribute to the devotion and encouragement they exhibit toward us students.

Hawkeye is a difficult character to capture even at the best of times and getting his voice as a teenager was...interesting.

I have no idea whether or not they would teach Anatomy and Physiology as 12th grade course work. For the purpose of this story, they do.

About the Title: Apple, as in Crabapple Cove, as in the things that historical show up on teacher's desks at Christmas, and because the first red delicious apple was called Hawkeye (I'm not kidding).

* * *

September:

* * *

"Abbey, Caroline?"

"Present."

"Brontel, Stephen?"

"Here, sir."

"Charleston, Mary?"

"Here."

"Clark, Harrison?"

"Present."

Mr. Robert Johnson ran down his class list. It was the first day of school and the majority of students seemed to be in attendance.

"Lawrence, Jonathan?"

"Here."

"Newman, Christopher?"

"Present."

"Noland, Abigail?"

"Present, sir."

"Pierce, Benjamin?"

Johnson looked up.

"Benjamin Pierce?"

No one answered.

There was no explanatory note from the principle and Johnson made a note on his clipboard.

"Richards, Emily?"

"Here, sir."

And went on with the roll call.

"Hello class," Johnson said when the roll call had finished. He put aside his clipboard. There was only one marked absence. "I am Mr. Robert Johnson, Mr. Sharden's replacement and your teacher this year for Anatomy and Physiology. All students in attendance should have scored high on their Biology and Chemistry course work of previous years, correct?"

There was a general wave of nodding heads across the classroom.

"A word of warning," Johnson continued, "I do not accept inattentiveness, tardiness, or any form of mischief making in my class. We are here to study science; if you cannot comply with my rules than you will be asked to leave. Any questions?"

No one made a sound.

"Now, aware as I am that this is your first day back, nevertheless, we will begin just as if it were any other day. Please open to chapter one in the text book –"

The door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a tall, lanky boy with badly cut, black hair and a general feeling of casual unkemptness about him.

Johnson looked at his clipboard.

"Benjamin Pierce?"

"Hawkeye," said the boy as if it were an introduction.

"Mr. Pierce, are you aware that class started ten minutes ago?"

"Yep."

"And have you any explanation for your tardiness?"

The boy shrugged. "Well there was this police chase, something about the Bronx zoo – but, _naw_, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

The class stifled laughter.

"You assume correctly, Mr. Pierce. Please, take a seat."

The boy deposited himself at a desk in the front row, arms and legs sprawled outward.

Interruption aside, Johnson began again. He turned to write something on the blackboard. "I think we will begin with a review. You will notice the first chapter of the book is on the structure of animal cells –"

Behind Johnson's turned back, he heard Pierce mutter to his neighbor if he happened to have a spare text book.

"Now," said Johnson, turning back to the class, "can anyone tell me the primary functions of centrosomes?"

A girl near the back raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Noland?"

"Centrosomes aid with cell digestion, don't they?"

Johnson opened his mouth but shut it again when, for a second time, he heard Pierce mutter something to his neighbor.

"Have you anything to share with the class, Mr. Pierce?"

The boy looked up, "Only that it's lysosomes that aid with cell digestion, not centrosomes. They aid with mitosis. Also, Abby, I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight."

A ripple of laughter ran through the class. Miss Noland blushed. Johnson raised his hand for silence.

"Thank you, Mr. Pierce, from now on if you wish to speak or answer a question I would ask you to please raise your hand."

Pierce raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Pierce?"

"I like your tie. It really brings out your eyes."

Before Johnson could say anything, one of the boys sitting next to Pierce raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Clark?"

"I second the motion."

Pierce raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Pierce?"

"How do you part your hair so straight down the middle?"

The class was having trouble holding in their laughter. Johnson frowned.

"Thank you, Mr. Pierce. That will do. Please see me after class."

The boy's eyes widened in surprised but he didn't look troubled. In fact, he was grinning. He sat back in his chair, casually inspecting his fingernails.

The end of the class came with no more interruptions from Pierce. Perhaps the boy had learned that Johnson was not a force to be reckoned with.

As the class filed out the door, Pierce remained and approached Johnson's desk. Johnson stood to face him and realized that Pierce was several inches taller than himself.

"I do not know how you were accustomed to treating my predecessor Mr. Sharden, Mr. Pierce," Johnson began as soon as the last student had left. The boy looked unfazed. He looked again, like he might grin, but seemed to be fighting down the impulse. "But I, at least, intend to be treated with respect."

"I never meant disrespect, sir."

"Then I ask you what did you mean, Mr. Pierce?"

The boy shrugged, "Not disrespect."

"Very well, Mr. Pierce," said Johnson. "As this is the first day, I will let you off with a warning. But if any more of your antics make an appearance in my class than I'm afraid that I will be forced to ask you to leave."

"Okay," said the boy with another shrug.

"Yes, _sir_," said Johnson.

"There's no need to call me sir, sir," said Pierce, with a passable expression of shocked innocence on his face.

Johnson frowned.

"Consider this a formal warning then, Pierce, if you intend to act that way. Perhaps you've heard it in baseball, but the same holds true for my class: three strikes and you're out."

"But foul balls don't count, right?"

"You may _go_, Mr. Pierce."

The boy put his hand to his forehead in a mock solute, "Yes, _sir_! Sir, sir." He turned sharply on his heel and swept from the classroom.

Outside he met his friends who had evidently waited in the hallway. Johnson could hear Pierce as he continued, "Yessir, yessir, yessir! Hut-two-three-four! Hut! _Hut_-two-three-four! Hut!" and marched down the hallway, to the impressive amusement of his friends.

Johnson frowned and packed away his clipboard and notes. He looked out the doorway in time to see Pierce disappear around the corner, friends in tow.

He smothered a sigh. It was going to be a long year.

* * *

Johnson fell into a chair in the teacher's lounge. One of his colleague's, Mr. Wilson – the Biology teacher – was sipping coffee across the way.

"How was your first day?"

"Fine," said Johnson. "Except – do you know anything about a Mr. Benjamin Pierce?"

"Hawkeye?" said Ms. Hawthorn, the English teacher, stepping into their conversation.

"I do believe that's what he called himself."

"Shoot," said Mr. Wilson, "You've got Hawkeye in your class?"

"I'm glad I'm not the only one to have that reaction," said Johnson. "The boy seemed to be ridiculously self-righteous, not to mention completely indifferent to my authority –"

"The kid's brilliant," said Mr. Wilson.

"He's…I beg your pardon?"

"He's brilliant," said Mr. Wilson. "Aces the course work. Got A after A in my class and I don't think he even studied."

"He's very sweet," Ms. Hawthorn added. "Quite the flatterer. And I do believe he's quite popular with the ladies."

"And neither of you found him to be somewhat…pretentious?" said Johnson, hardly believing his ears, and wondering if he and his colleagues were discussing the same person.

"Well, of course," said Mr. Wilson with a shrug, "But that's just Hawkeye. You're new here so you wouldn't know – but that's always been Hawkeye."

"And – excuse me – but you allow him to get away with his antics simply because 'that is the way he is'?" Johnson made sure his air-quotes were apparent.

Ms. Hawthorn smiled, "There is something bewitchingly charming about the boy."

"You'll just have to get used to him," said Mr. Wilson, and took a sip of his coffee.

Johnson frowned. He began to get a clearer picture of this Benjamin Pierce. Not only was he a delinquent, apparently, but one whom could cajole, as well. And those were sometimes the most dangerous.

"I gather the boy's had an easy life," said Johnson, hoping he did not sound bitter – because he did not want to his colleagues to think him bitter – "His schoolwork comes easily to him? Has his family money?"

Ms. Hawthorn shrugged. "Not an overly easy life, no."

"Dad's the country doctor. Not a soul in Crabapple Cove who doesn't know Dan Pierce. As for money, no, can't say the Pierce's have an excess of it. In fact, Dan has a habit of charging and never collecting," said Mr. Wilson.

"And all the teachers here, they know this Dr. Pierce? And are aware that Benjamin Pierce is his son?"

"Sure," said Mr. Wilson.

"And perhaps treat his son with lenience out of gratitude – perhaps reverence for his father?"

Mr. Wilson looked a bit taken aback and didn't say anything.

Ms. Hawthorn piped up, "Hawkeye's mother passed away when he was young. I cannot say that that has made for an easy life."

"And you afford him grace out of pity, is that it?"

Ms. Hawthorn blinked, "What? No. Of course not. Hawkeye is a good student. He's a good boy. He gets good grades. Who are we to suppress his more…creative instincts?"

"Shameless carousing, you mean," said Johnson, feeling his lips press sharply together. "No, I am afraid I cannot condone that. At least in my classroom, I cannot."

Ms. Hawthorn looked at a loss for words.

Mr. Wilson looked uncomfortable, as if he was afraid he had said too much. But nothing they had said, nor nothing they could say, could help relax the reserve Johnson felt for Benjamin Pierce. That boy would not be given an easy avenue in _his_ class.

* * *

"Mr. Pierce, are you chewing gum?"

"Yes, sorry, sir. I'd offer some but this was my last chew."

"And you're aware that chewing gum during class is against this school's policy?"

"Yes, sir. But I won't tell anyone you wanted some."

* * *

Please, drop a review if you can. Updates may be sporadic, and probably all short like this one.


	2. October

Author's Note: I'm operating under the assumption that Hawkeye was in his late twenties and early thirties during the series (which historically takes place in 1950-53) even though Alan Alda was, in fact, thirty-six when the series began and well into his forties by the time it ended (anyone else notice how he goes gray?). Consequentially, Hawkeye in his senior year of high school would be seventeen-turning-eighteen, and the year would be 1938.

I'll try to keep that in mind as far as historical content. Not that much of that will be making an appearance in this fic, but it's always nice to have a little bit of background to work off of.

So, for the convenience of my reader and the author, myself, the time period falls near the end of the Great Depression, and a year before Germany invades Poland and sets off WWII.

Which I think is interesting as Hawkeye would have been prime drafting age and I'm surprised he never was (because Korea appears to be his first war). I can only assume he was exempt from the draft because of his studies and practice of being a doctor, perhaps in accordance of class 2-A: Registrant deferred because of civilian occupation. But I honestly have no idea if that would make sense and I'm probably reading way too much into it. If anyone else has any thoughts about it, feel free to leave them in a review.

Sorry, back to the story now.

* * *

October:

* * *

"Mr. Pierce!" Johnson took hold of the paper airplane that had just landed on his desk and immediately found Benjamin Pierce with his eyes. The boy was sitting in the front row and apparently otherwise engaged in pop quiz Johnson had sprung at the beginning of the class.

Pierce looked up, "Yes, sir?"

"Did you throw this, Mr. Pierce?"

"What makes you say that, sir?"

"Answer the question, Mr. Pierce."

"Maybe no one threw it, sir. Perhaps it simple spontaneously appeared –"

"Mr. Pierce, to you want me to bring this to the principal?"

Pierce shook his head, "No, sir, I'm sure the principal has plenty of paper airplanes of his own."

Laughter rang through the classroom but was hurriedly stifled.

"That will be enough, Mr. Pierce, Do not let me catch you throwing paper airplanes in my class again," Johnson waved impatiently for the class to proceed with their tests.

He bowed his head to finish grading the lab sheets.

Another paper airplane landed on his desk.

"Mr. Pierce!"

"Yes, sir?"

"What did I just tell you?"

"To not let you catch me throwing paper airplanes again, sir?"

"Yes, and what did you just do?"

"I let you catch me, sir?"

Johnson stifled a sigh. It was getting more and more difficult to keep a cool head. Unconsciously the paper airplane was crumpled into a ball in Johnson's fist. Pierce's blue eyes sparkled innocently.

"You are being disruptive and disrespectful, Mr. Pierce –"

Pierce muttered something to his neighbor.

"What did you say, Mr. Pierce?"

Pierce shrugged, "Nothing important, sir."

"I demand you tell me what you just said!" Johnson was unaware that he had gotten to his feet.

"Dave and I have been keeping score, sir. That's the sixteenth time you've said 'disrespectful'."

For a moment Johnson didn't know what to say, nor could form coherent words in which to say it. He sputtered, "You – you – disrespectful – I am sorry, Mr. Pierce –"

"Don't be, sir, I'm winning."

"Enough! Mr. Pierce!" Pierce snapped to attention, lip quirking at the corner. The rest of the class had completely forgotten their quiz. Johnson was painfully conscious of how much of a spectacle this was creating. "If you cannot control yourself, then I suggest you leave, Mr. Pierce. You are a distraction toward the rest of the class."

"I don't know," Pierce stood and addressed the class. "I don't think I'm a distraction. Do you think I'm a distraction? Don't raise your heads, please, that means I'm a distraction."

"Out! Mr. Pierce!" Johnson had not meant to shout, nor had he meant for his finger to tremble so much while he was pointing towards the door.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you've been a great audience," said Pierce, and scurried from the room when he caught sight of Johnson's face.

* * *

Johnson had always considered himself a patient, lenient man. He tried to make allowances. He tried to be understanding. But some people simply had a way of pushing him beyond limitations, of reaching the boundary, skipping over, and then playing jump rope with the line. Benjamin Pierce was one of those people.

"Any questions, class?" Johnson shut his eyes, he half-hoped when he opened them again the hand Pierce had raised into the air might be again safely at his side. "_Yes_, Mr. Pierce?"

"If you crossed golgi bodies with a mattababy what would you get?"

"_What_ is a mattababy, Mr. Pierce?" Johnson wondered that he been caught in this trap.

"I don't know, sir, what's the matta' with you?"

Several students stifled laughter.

Johnson wondered if that odd twitching he felt in his temple was going to become a problem.

"Any other questions?"

"Do the voices in your head always talk about Ms. Hawthorn, sir?"

"_Thank you_, Mr. Pierce. Class dismissed."

As the students swept by Johnson's desk and out the door he heard Pierce mutter to a friend, "It's not my fault I can hear them from all the way over there."

Johnson fought the urge to bury his head in his hands.

* * *

"I will begin class by passing out your tests taken last Friday. Please, refrain from making comment. You may talk to me after class if you have any concerns or questions about your grades."

Johnson swept passed Pierce's desk and left the packet of his completed test on the top. Out of the corner of his eye, Johnson saw as the boy hastily picked it up and flipped to the back page to find the mark.

When Johnson returned to the top of the class, he noted that Pierce's face was still blank with shocked disbelief. Johnson began to brace himself for the confrontation he knew he was coming, all the while as he discussed the definition of homeostasis.

When he dismissed the class, sure enough, there was Pierce.

"You gave me a C-plus?"

Johnson did not say anything. He waited, holding Pierce's eye. The boy met his gaze willingly, almost hostilely.

Pierce's cheeks turned an almost imperceptible flushed pink. "You gave me a C-plus, _sir_?"

Johnson wondered for how much the boy could make a simple word sound so much like an insult.

"If that is indeed what is written on your test," said Johnson, "then it appears as if I did just that, Mr. Pierce."

Johnson saw Pierce square his jaw. The test in his hand crinkled slightly as his grip tightened. "Why – _sir_? I didn't make any mistakes."

"And you know this _how_, Mr. Pierce?"

"Because I do," said Pierce. "I got one-hundred percent on this test, I know."

"Yes, of course, by osmosis."

"My dad's a doctor," said Pierce, voice muffled through gritted teeth. "I've known this stuff since I got my training wheels off."

"And your father confirmed your test answers, is that it?"

"No, but he could."

"By all means, Mr. Pierce, you may fight the matter of your grade. I do not fear scrutiny, nor answering for my methods."

"Then answer for them now – _sir_. You know I deserve a better grade. Why didn't you give it to me?"

"Why? Because, after being reprimanded time and time again, you refuse to treat me with the respect I deserve. You disrupt class. You are distracted during my lectures. You are late almost every day. You hold the rules of this school in disregard. And you refuse to show the proper respect to the subject I teach with your inattentiveness." And because it was about time Johnson started fighting back.

Pierce flushed now in full. "I know the subject, sir. I could darn well teach it better than you could –"

"The last time I checked, I was the teacher here, Mr. Pierce. And also the one with the answer sheet."

Pierce's gaze grew immediately stony. "I didn't cheat."

"I was not suggesting it, Mr. Pierce."

"I don't cheat."

"And I am certain you would say the same thing if, in fact, you _did_."

"You can give me all the C-plusses you want," Pierce spat. "Fail me if you want to. But I _don't cheat_. I'd be willing to swear to it in a court of law. In front of the principal with my hand on a Bible."

"Fight it, by all means. I've already told you, you may."

Pierce did not say anything. His face was turning white. For a moment Johnson worried that he had provoked the boy to rage. Pierce's lip curled, as though he was fighting back a curse word, or perhaps the impulse to spit in Johnson's face.

Johnson could almost see the cogs turning in the boy's mind behind his icy-blue eyes. He knew the boy was weighing his options, perhaps calculating how much trouble he would get into if he punched him.

Pierce's face cleared with a decision and his lips curved in a final, ugly snarl. His test crumpled fully in his fist. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, letting the door slam behind him, ultimately deciding – Johnson knew – not to take it to the principal.

No, Johnson had not thought he would. This was a private battle, and if there was anything in Pierce that Johnson could admire, it was the boy's pride, even if that pride forced him to fight fair.


	3. November

Author's Note: My fumbling attempt at doing a section from Hawkeye's POV. Don't expect much more of that.

* * *

November:

* * *

Hawkeye eyed his dad without his dad noticing, quietly spooning cereal and milk into his mouth. It was Sunday morning, which meant it was his father's day off, which meant it was the only chance his father got to catch up on important, every-day type things like reading the week's mail, fiddling with the cabinet door that was always getting stuck, and checking over Hawkeye's quarterly report card.

Hawkeye eyed his dad without his dad noticing.

His dad flipped open the report card and ran his finger down the list of classes, grades, absences, and whatever other things the school cared about. Out of the corner of his eye, Hawkeye saw his dad pause briefly then go on. When he'd finished, his dad carefully folded the report card and put it back on the kitchen table. He picked up a letter from the bank and slit it open with a letter opener.

Hawkeye watched as his father put down this letter, picked up another, open and read it, put it back down, and picked up another. By then Hawkeye had forgotten about being covert, and forgotten about his cereal, and was staring at his father unashamedly.

Finally Daniel Pierce had gotten through his pile of letters and looked up to see his son staring at him.

_Well? _Hawkeye meant to say, but of course didn't say anything at all.

He father cleared his throat, "Good grades again, Ben."

His dad had started calling him Ben after his mom had died seven years ago. She had never really approved of the nickname Hawkeye.

_And? _

"If you're struggling in that Anatomy and Physiology class I'd be happy to help out."

"I'm not struggling," Hawkeye said quickly. Even though he was barely carrying a D. Honestly, the school was stupid to believe kids didn't open their report cards _before_ their parents did.

His dad gave him a slightly incredulous, half-way amused look. "Glad to hear it."

Hawkeye knew that look. That meant _cough up quick, you know I know, Hawk_. Or at least he would know. There was a parent-teacher conference that night.

Hawkeye pushed away his bowl of soggy cereal.

"The teacher doesn't like me."

"Who couldn't like you, Ben?"

"I don't know. His loss."

"And he's giving you bad grades because of it?"

Often Hawkeye felt that because of all the time his father spent by the x-ray machines a bit of their electromagnetic energy had seeped into his skin and given him special powers. He seemed able to see through Hawkeye's eyes, into his mind, and right to the truth of the matter.

Hawkeye hesitated. "Not…wholly."

"So he isn't giving you bad grades because he doesn't like you?"

"No, he's definitely giving me bad grades because he doesn't like me."

"But there are some other reasons, too?"

Hawkeye felt his lip curl. He frowned at his bowl of soggy cereal.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

_Not really, no. _

His dad sighed and moved to get up from the table. He brought his empty coffee mug up to the sink. It was full of last night's dishes. In fact, the whole kitchen was in a rather disheveled way. They were, after all, two bachelors and there was little time during the week for tidying up.

"Well, I'm here if you ever do."

Hawkeye was about to get up when he changed his mind and tried to make his voice unassuming, "Want to catch a movie tonight, Dad?"

Daniel Pierce didn't bother looking over his shoulder as he started on the dishes. "You know I've got that conference tonight, Ben."

Darn. His father knew. Of course his father knew. Hawkeye had to work on that unassuming thing.

"Unless there's no reason for me to go."

"Yeah, you probably don't have to worry about it."

"Maybe there's some particular reason for me _not_ to go?" His voice had risen slightly, to be heard over the running of the faucet.

Hawkeye frowned at the back of his dad's head. He had thought it was _moms_ who had the eyes back there. Sometimes his father was a bit too shrewd for his own good – Hawkeye's own good, at least.

"Not if you want to listen to a whole bunch of boring, unimportant flattery about your son."

"And what about this Anatomy and Physiology guy? What's he going to have to say about you?"

"Vicious lies."

"So, is it that he doesn't like you or you don't like him?"

"He didn't like me first."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it?"

"I don't." Hawkeye frowned and snatched his bowl of cereal. He began shoveling it back into his mouth and almost gagged. Gosh, that was disgusting.

Daniel chuckled. "Maybe we'll catch that movie after the conference, Hawk. Shouldn't run too late."

Hawkeye doubted it. Johnson probably had quite the list.

* * *

"Welcome to the school. You're new this year, Mr. Johnson, aren't you?" The man had gray-flecked hair and sparkling blue eyes hiding behind spectacles. He was a good six-inches taller than Johnson. His legs were lanky and arms swung at his sides casually.

Johnson took his outstretched hand in his own.

"Thank you –"

"Dan Pierce," said the man helpfully and Johnson almost dropped the man's hand by instinct. "You've got my son Ben in your class, I believe."

"You're Pierce's - Benjamin Pierce's father?"

"Please, call me Dan," said the man, easy smile on his lips. Now that Johnson knew what to look for, the resemblance between Daniel Pierce and his son was evident.

"So, Anatomy and Physiology, remember well when I took all that," Mr. Pierce said off-handedly. "How's my son been as a student?"

Johnson cleared his throat, "Well, about your son…actually, Mr. Pierce, I'm sorry to say your son seems to…lack enthusiasm toward my subject. At least the way he acts in my classroom has led me to make that assumption."

"Ben?" said Mr. Pierce. "Can't imagine him quite lacking enthusiasm for anything."

"It isn't the enthusiasm so much," said Johnson, suddenly uncomfortable. He had imagined this speech thoroughly in the privacy of his own office. He had never enjoyed confronting the parents. "In fact he seems to have ample enthusiasm, bursting with it, in fact – that is part of the problem."

Mr. Pierce frowned, "I'm sure Ben enjoys your class just fine. Boy wants to become a doctor, you know." Mr. Pierce laughed. "Just like his old man."

Johnson wondered if it was supposed to be a subtle reminder of just who among them had more sway in the town, moreover authority over the school.

"But anyway," Mr. Pierce continued. "What seems to be the problem? I did realize Ben's grades seemed to be down in your class. Anything I can help with?"

Johnson cleared his throat again. "Well, you see, Mr. Pierce, your son seems to have a – a mystifying disregard toward following the rules, especially in my classroom. He constantly undermines my authority and, you see, I have had little choice then to grade him with what his actions warrant…."

Mr. Pierce laughed, "Well, is that all?"

"Mr. Pierce," Johnson frowned. "Your son may have a serious problem with authority. It is hardly something to laugh about."

Nonetheless, Mr. Pierce laughed. "Why, that's just Ben. Don't take any mind to it, Mr. Johnson. Doesn't mean any harm, Ben doesn't. Why, when he was in first-grade Ms. Richardson kept writing to me to let me know Ben kept disrupting class and causing a ruckus but in the end she just gave into it. Funny thing, after that, Ben stopped causing a ruckus –"

"I fail to see what that has to do with the matter at hand, Mr. Pierce."

Mr. Pierce smiled, gently, if not like he thought Johnson was a little simple. "Maybe I'm trying to suggest that my son means no harm. I'm sorry if he's being a problem. But maybe giving that problem a little space might make it…resolve itself on it own?"

Johnson was not aware his frown had grown quite so pronounced until he began to feel his jaw muscles ache. To Johnson, Dr. Daniel Pierce seemed to be doing a wonderful impression of a kindly, simple country doctor. Perhaps he was playing the roll a bit too well. "Thank you, Mr. Pierce, I appreciate your advice and will take it into account."

Mr. Pierce smiled again and stuck out his hand, "Been a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Johnson."

"And you, Mr. Pierce."

Mr. Pierce flicked his fingers at his hairline in a salute that recalled his son, "Please, call me Dan," and he ambled away with a cheerful smile.


	4. December

Author's Note: I'm ba-ack! And feel very badly at having taken such a large gap between updates… and was struck with a sudden Christmassy, festive mood while writing this, even though we're more than six months away. Reviews are love and thank you for all I've received thus far.

* * *

December

* * *

"I know you are all rather preoccupied with the Holiday season, not to mention the beginning of your vacation tomorrow," said Johnson, addressing the faces of his students – glazed with a familiar Christmas stupor – "However, I see no reason for that to interfere with my class. As such, we will continue as usual. Open to page 106, Chapter Seven in your text books, Cell Meiosis…."

Johnson trailed away, a noise in the hallway outside his classroom snatching hold of his attention.

It was a muffled voice, raised to the top of its lungs…singing.

"–Deck the halls with boughs of holly!"

Johnson saw as the singing also caught the attention of his students and drew their minds even further away from their text books.

"Fa la la la la, la la la la!"

Johnson's eyes flickered to the characteristically empty seat in the front right corner of the classroom, then turned to look at the door.

"Tis the season to be jolly!"

Class had started ten minutes ago. Johnson had been beginning to hope that Pierce had, in fact, given it up.

"Fa la la la la, la la la –" and with a terrific swing of the door and arms spread wide, large grin stretching across his face, Pierce stepped into the classroom with one final, lingering, "LA!"

There was a spattering of applause across the classroom. Pierce bowed. The applause evaporated when Johnson cleared his throat.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you that you are once again late, Mr. Pierce."

"Just call me the late Mr. Pierce," said Hawkeye, and winked.

Johnson frowned. "Take a seat, Mr. Pierce."

"Oh, right!" Pierce held up his finger as though he had just remembered something, face brightening. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a lint-covered bar of chocolate.

"Merry Christmas, sir. I figured I'd get you something other than an apple because that's really so unoriginal."

"Take your _seat_, Mr. Pierce."

Pierce shrugged and left the candy on the edge of Johnson's desk. "Whatever you say."

He stepped toward the empty desk, took hold of it and hoisted it into the air.

"Mr. Pierce, what are you doing?"

"Taking my seat –"

"Sit down this instant, Mr. Pierce!"

Pierce let down his desk with a clatter to the floor and looked mystified. "But you said –"

"That is enough, Mr. Pierce. If you insist on being difficult than, I assure you, you have another thing coming."

Pierce finally complied, grumbling under his breath about _people not being able to make up their minds_.

Johnson looked down and saw that he had subconsciously ruffled all his notes. Feeling distinctly off-put and forgetting where he'd been before Pierce had come in, Johnson attempted to regain control of his class.

He began discussing the finer points of Anaphase II and then instructed the class to fill out a worksheet he had supplied at the beginning of class. He swept the chocolate bar Pierce had given him into the bin on the floor, doubting that it was, in fact, wholly chocolate.

From the front right corner, Pierce yawned largely and exaggeratedly.

Johnson debated whether or not an interruption of the class would be worth a reprimand. But before he could make up his mind, the words had sprung from his lips "Mr. Pierce, is it that you assume I can't see you sitting right before my eyes?"

Pierce shook his head. "Oh no, sir. You see me when I'm sleeping. You know when I'm awake –"

"Mr. Pierce!"

"You know when I've been bad or good –"

"Enough, Mr. Pierce!"

Pierce smothered a grin but fell silent. "So be good," he muttered out of the corner of his lips to his neighbor, "for goodness' sakes."

Johnson rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

"If you're quite finished," he snapped to Pierce, and waved for the class to proceed.

"But, sir," said Pierce, "there's all the other verses –" and launched into song, yet again:

"You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout –"

"Mr. Pierce! Why do you insist –?"

"Wait, I'm telling you why –"

"Mr. Pierce!"

"Because Santa Claus is coming to town –"

By then the concentration of the class had fully dissolved and had turned into utter hysterics. Johnson surveyed his students from behind his desk and wondered gloomily if the battle was lost. His eyes again strayed to the perpetrator – Pierce, grinning as always – and he scowled.

"Mr. Pierce, I will ask you only once more to control yourself –"

Pierce pouted mockingly, "Oh, please sir, Mr. Scrooge. It's Christmas."

Johnson's fist came down on surface of his desk without having thought to command it there. His cup of pens rattled dangerously near the edge. "I do not care if it is Christmas! It gives you no right to turn my classroom into a farce!"

Pierce's fist hammered against his own desk. "Humbug! Ba, humbug!"

One of the students near the back of the class was laughing so hard, he rolled off his seat and onto the floor. Johnson finally conceded that he had, in fact, lost this round. Pierce, unfortunately, had something on his side that Johnson did not. Something that Mr. Dickens had quoted rather well in the very book Pierce was referencing:

_It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor._

As Johnson surveyed his classroom gone to chaos he remembered another line:

_And, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves as one, but every child was conducting itself like forty._

And there at their head, was Pierce – grinning, as always.

Johnson attempted to gather what little of his dignity that had been splayed across the floor. He cleared his throat and the students at least consented to look up at him, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes. And Pierce – grinning, as always – looked triumphant.

"Very well. I can see that I have lost any hope I had in completing today's lesson. You may be dismissed early. However, let us remember what Charles Dickens warned us of – of which Mr. Pierce reminded me of just now:

"This boy is Ignorance and this girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased."

Jonson frowned at his students for a moment longer, taking an almost perverse pleasure in their looks of blank confusion. He flicked his wrist as though trying to rid it of some slimy residue, "You may go. Merry Christmas."

The students gathered there things, stood from their desk with the scraping of the chair legs upon the floor. When the last of them had filed out the door, there was Pierce, grinning, even though Johnson had not asked him to stay.

Johnson avoided looking at the boy, because surely he had stayed behind to gloat. He snapped his brief case shut and walked out the classroom door. Pierce followed.

"Sir?"

Johnson turned. "Well," he said, "I suppose you are very proud of yourself, Mr. Pierce. You have succeeded in not only undermining my authority by yourself, but leading your classmates to do the same."

Pierce shrugged. "Oh, come on, Mr. Johnson. It is Christmas. Give them a break."

Johnson pressed his lips together. "Yes, so you have said." He turned around again, preparing to make his way to the teacher's lounge and make himself a cup of coffee, perhaps collapse onto the couch and think of all the devious way he could get back at Pierce for this – perhaps with a one-hundred multiple choice question quiz to begin the next semester.

He remembered something and turned back around to face the boy, "And, Mr. Pierce?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Strike two," said Johnson and watched in satisfaction as the boy's smile slipped off his lips. Johnson let the door swing shut behind him. "Merry Christmas."

* * *

And missed it as Hawkeye crossed his arms over his chest, falling to lean against the closed classroom door. "And a happy New Year, sir," he muttered. He watched as Johnson walked down the hallway, briefcase swinging in his paw and a jaunty little lilt to his step.

Hawkeye smiled. Surely, this meant war.


	5. January

Author's Note: writing an angry Hawkeye is turning out to be much more fun (not to mention easier) then writing a humorous one (of which will be sadly lacking in this next chapter).

* * *

January

* * *

Pierce frowned. Johnson smiled.

Over the perpetual scratching of pencils, and the occasional clearing of a throat, Johnson surveyed his class as they quietly and calmly worked their ways through their midterm. Johnson had been well-known back at his previous position as a teacher who gave tedious, meticulous, _hard_ tests, and he had no intention of yielding that standard any time soon.

It was two weeks back from Christmas break and by the many frowns sprinkled across the classroom Johnson could tell that some of the students were still a bit sluggish from their Christmas cheer. Johnson had always been a firm believer that a teacher was to give their students no quarter. That way one could weed out the students that were simply hanging around for the ride.

Johnson's eyes flickered back to Pierce's bowed head, saw the boy suck on the end of his pencil in obvious confusion, and felt his lips pull tightly into another smile. He couldn't pretend that it did give him a certain level of satisfaction to see the boy finally struggling. And finally silent.

The bell rang, signifying the end of class. Mr. Johnson asked the tests to be collected at the front, and then dismissed them. He watched as Pierce filed out of the classroom with the rest of the students. He was still frowning.

* * *

Johnson heard a tap on his office door and murmured, "Come in," without looking up from the papers he was grading. He heard the door open and close and waited for his visitor to announce themselves. When whoever it was didn't, Johnson put aside his pen and looked up.

"Ah, Mr. Pierce," he said, "and what brings you here?"

Pierce was staring around Johnson's office, hands stuffed in his pockets. Johnson noted with triumph that Pierce appeared to be a bit out of his element among Johnson's shelves of nonfiction biographies and painted landscapes across the walls.

"Homey, sir," said Pierce, peering at a painting of a lake and mountains.

"What did you expect," said Johnson, "a cave?"

"A laboratory," said Pierce. "My dad's office is floor to ceiling covered with bookshelves filled with science journals. He's got medical diagrams tacked across the shelves."

"Yes, well" said Johnson, compulsively straightening his pen so that it was parallel with the edge of his desk, "I think we have established by now that your father and I are very different men, Mr. Pierce."

Pierce did not deign to comment, but Johnson saw a gleam of something in the boy's eye that might have been a stifled jab.

"So," said Johnson again, "what can I help you with?"

"My midterm, sir," Pierce began.

"Ah, yes," said Johnson. "Well, I am afraid you will have to wait for next Tuesdays for your grades, just like all the rest of your classmates."

"I'm not here for my grades, sir," said Pierce, perhaps a trifle testily.

"Well then," said Johnson, "what are you here for?"

"Justice, sir."

"Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Pierce?"

"You know what I mean." Pierce seemed to be trying to fight back his rising anger. "You gave me a different test then all the other students."

Johnson's eyebrows rose. "Is that so, Mr. Pierce?"

"Yes, that's _so_, Mr. Johnson," Pierce spat. "I've been asking around. No one else in that class had questions as hard as mine –"

"Difficulty of a test, Mr. Pierce, like beauty, may be in the eyes of the beholder –"

"We hadn't covered half of that material!" Pierce plowed ahead. "I asked my dad about some of the questions and he said that stuff wasn't covered until college –"

"Are you complaining about the level of complexity in my class, Mr. Pierce? Or your lack of an ability to grasp it?" Johnson knew that he had perhaps gone too far. He saw as Pierce ceased to fight back his anger and gave it full rein.

"You know you swapped out my questions to make them harder," he said in a low and deadly level voice. "You wanted me to fail and decided that you couldn't go on simply ignoring the fact that I was getting one-hundreds on all your other tests. You don't like me and never have and it irks your pride to think I might be able to pass your class with flying colors –"

"Yes, it's true. Plenty about you irks me, Mr. Pierce, but my pride is the least of these."

"You changed my test so that you could have the satisfaction of giving me a grade that actually fits my work." Pierce laughed. "You had to raise your standard for me and that hurts your pride so now you're refusing to acknowledge that you did it. In fact, maybe you've actually convinced yourself that you didn't change my test, just so that you could sit here in your comfortable office thinking that you beat me – well, you haven't beat me, sir. I refuse to bow to this. Go ahead and give me your harder tests. I'll be ready. I'll probably get an A on this one and then we'll see how you like it –"

"Actually, Mr. Pierce," Johnson interrupted the boy's rant. He had not realized he'd stood from his desk until he heard the scrape of his chair upon the floor, "You received a C on your midterm, on par with the rest of your work in my class."

Pierce choked on his next words. His eyes narrowed. He clamped his jaw. Johnson reveled in Pierce's rare display of loss of words.

"Have you anything else to say?"

Pierce swallowed angrily. "Your methods aren't fair. When I entered this fight I expected to be met on an even playing field –"

"Not _fair_?" said Johnson. "You really believe that life is _fair_, Mr. Pierce? Further, you expect my class to be? And as for fighting me in my class, might I remind you that I am the teacher. I am the point of authority; therefore, I make the rules. I must say that you have certainly treated me with no fairness in this little _fight_ of yours, and let us speak nothing of respect."

The boy didn't say anything.

"It is time you realized, Mr. Pierce," Johnson continued, "that life will not be handed to you on a silver platter. If you truly wish to succeed in this world you will have to become accustomed to working for what you want. That it all, Mr. Pierce, you may go."

* * *

In his consuming preoccupation with Pierce, Johnson had not forgotten his other students, and began to see a worrying trend in the work of one of them.

It was not that Christopher Newman's work began to get worse, in fact, it began to get better. Johnson was used to the grades of his students steadily improving over the year, nurtured by Johnson's teaching, but he had never seen someone improve quite so drastically in such a short amount of time. Directly after Christmas, Newman had went from receiving borderline Ds to achieving B work on his last test.

Johnson had been around the block enough times to know that students typically did not do that, not naturally at least. He also knew that Newman was often in the company of Pierce, in fact, they sat next to each other in class. Johnson knew that Newman couldn't have looked at Pierce's midterm because, after all, Johnson actually had changed Pierce's tests. But it was possible that Pierce was helping Newman to cheat in some other way.

One day, as a precaution, Johnson asked the boys to please switch seats. He sent Newman to the other side of the classroom and away from Pierce. Newman's newly achieved quality of work ceased to be diminished.

Johnson began watching Pierce and Newman carefully. He checked that his briefcase with the test answers would not be disturbed. He watched their hands during class, to check for any passing notes. He checked Newman's papers for any sequences of words that did not seem to be in Newman's style, and checked the handwriting against Pierce's.

Everything, unfortunately, seemed to be in order and finally Johnson asked for Newman to stay behind after class, to address the issue.

"Mr. Newman," he began. The boy fidgeted nervously. Johnson had yet to confront another student that met his gaze with a grin, as Pierce did. "I couldn't help but notice that your work in my class seems to be improving at a rather drastic rate –"

"I haven't been cheating," said Newman hastily, and Johnson thought it strange that the boy's thoughts would jump so readily _there_.

"Did I imply that you had been cheating?" said Johnson.

Newman's face flushed red. He knotted his fingers together. "No, sir. But I know that you – but I haven't been, sir, honest."

"Of course, Mr. Newman. May I ask what your explanation _does_ happen to be?"

"It's…Hawkeye, sir," said Newman with extreme trepidation. Johnson noted this with interest. Pierce seemed to hold unusual sway amongst his friends; no doubt they would be wary of crossing him.

"Yes, go on," said Johnson, hardly keeping the excitement from his voice. He was sure his eye gleamed with enthusiasm. He wondered, perhaps, if this might finally be his chance of upsetting Pierce's seat on that wobbly throne –

"…He's been – tutoring me, sir."

"_Tutoring_ you?"

Newman refused to meet Johnson's eye. "Yes, sir. Ever since Christmas. I told him I was nervous about midterms because I wasn't holding a good average in the class. He offered to help me study."

_Tutoring_? Pierce had been _tutoring_? Of all the confounded – so the boy had _not_ been doing anything dishonest?

"Please, sir," said Newman, looking Johnson finally in the eye and looking shifty. "Don't let on to any of the other boys. They'd – tease me. Hawkeye's promised not to tell them either…."

And finally Johnson recognized Newman's unease for what it truly was: embarrassment.

"No," Johnson said, stifling the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. "Not to worry, Newman. No one but you, me, and Mr. Pierce shall know this little secret."

"Thank you, sir," Newman looked quite relieved.

"You may go –" Newman rushed for the classroom door, "And, Mr. Newman?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm – proud of this initiative you have taken with Mr. Pierce. It shows – integrity, recognizing your failings and striving to better them." _And helping others in those subjects that you excel. _

Newman flashed him a brief smile before sliding through the door, which shut behind him with a click.

* * *

Ending Note: I wanted to thank those of the reviewers who have pointed out that Hawkeye has been acting like a rude and insufferable imp toward Mr. Johnson whom, despite his quirks, does deserve to be treated with respect purely for his status and authority as a teacher (if not anything else). That is the exact effect I've been hoping to pull off with this story.

I can picture Hawkeye, regardless of what a wonderful character he is in the show, as being a bit of an arrogant brat in his youth, who has to work a bit on his attitude toward authority (which crops up many times in the show). In this story, I've tried to show him as part innocent trouble-maker, part valiant striver for justice, and part angry and prideful young man. I can see all parts of that in him during MASH, and I've noticed that his particularly nasty side would emerge when facing Frank Burns (citing the episode "The Bus" especially). Even when Frank (being who Frank is) tries to be a little bit friendly, Hawkeye would immediately rebuff him with mockery.

All in all, Hawkeye is a very complex character and not perfect by any means. I've tried to show that here in his sometimes justified but often times blatant disrespect toward Mr. Johnson.

And thank you for reading this ridiculously long tangent.


	6. February - Part 1

Author's Note: I know. Shocking. An update with not a month in-between.

As you may have noticed, this chapter will be split into two parts so that 1. the length will be in accordance with the preceding chapters, 2. I could construct a nice little cliff-hanger at the end, and 3. because I have a little editing still to do with the second part and didn't want to leave you lovely readers with no updates.

Also, in case anyone wanted to know, I recently ran through my posted chapters and edited a few niggling spelling and grammatical errors; if you happen to find any more while reading, please let me know :)

* * *

February - Part 1

* * *

Johnson had been having a very bad day.

He had overslept his alarm, something he prided himself on _never_ doing. He had shut his automatically locking front door only to discover he had left his house keys _inside_. When he had kicked the morning newspaper across the driveway in rage, he had seen he'd put on two different pairs of shoes in his haste to leave the house on time. He'd hit all of Crabapple Cove's three red lights, and almost run over an elderly lady who had been crossing the street out of the crosswalk. When he'd gotten to the school he'd found the doors locked and had had to knock until the janitor noticed him. He'd tripped over the janitor's durned mop and bucket in his mad rush to class, and had flung open the door to his classroom to find all of the class already assembled and Pierce _grinning_ at him.

"Sir, are you aware that class started ten minutes ago?"

"I am not in the _mood_, Mr. Pierce," he snapped, not deigning to give the boy another glance and walking brusquely to his desk. _You will not say one more word if you value your life. _

"Open your books. Chapter Twelve," he snapped to the waiting students, whom ruffled through their text books hurriedly. He gripped a piece of chalk and began to write across the board with vehemence.

With ears well-acquainted with it by now, Johnson immediately picked up Pierce's muffled voice from behind his back. The piece of chalk clattered to the floor.

"Mr. Pierce!"

"Sir?"

"How many times must I ask you to be quiet during my lectures?"

"Apparently once more, sir." The smile melted off Pierce's face quickly. Evidently it had gotten through even his thick head that Johnson was simply not a man to be messed with this morning.

Johnson moved to sit down on his desk chair.

"Ah, sir –" began Pierce.

"Mr. Pierce, I have had a truly trying morning. I have neither the spirit nor the temperament to deal with you today. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir," said Pierce, "perfectly, flawlessly, deliciously, like the shiny and sumptuous jelly in the center of a donut –"

Johnson deposited himself into his desk chair, feeling angry and disgruntled. He heard something squish and felt something gooey seep through the seat of his pants. By reflex, a curse word slipped out of his lips. He leapt back to his feet, straining his back to see what he'd sat on.

On the chair and now one the back of his pants was the ruin of what had once been a powdered jelly donut.

The class stifled their giggles immediately when Johnson straightened back up to look at them. He felt steam boil and whistle through his nostrils.

"Mr. Pierce!"

The boy looked undeniably guilty, if not insufferably triumphant.

"Sir?" he said, slouching in his chair as if that might make him less assuming.

"Did you do this, Pierce?"

"Do…what, sir?"

"Do not toy with me, Pierce!"

"I thought you might need it today, sir," said Pierce hastily and apologetically. "Honestly, what with you being late and all. I thought a donut might make you a bit more cheerful –"

"How _dare_ you!" Johnson roared.

"It's the right of every human being to feel cheerful sir, even yours."

"You – you vicious monster –"

"Sir, I'm sorry. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you might not want a donut –"

"Of all the preposterous – never have I seen such an immature stunt –"

"Everyone likes donuts! How was I to know you didn't?"

"Not on the seat of my pants, I don't!"

"Not on the seat of your pants, they don't either, I'm sure," said Pierce.

Johnson sputtered for breath, "Tell me, what is the meaning of this outrageous, childish –"

"You weren't supposed to sit on it!"

"It was hidden on my chair, Mr. Pierce. What exactly was I supposed to do with it?"

"I tried to warn you –"

"And you –" Johnson switched tactics wildly, confused by dizzying rage, and gestured to the rest of the students, who shrunk before the spit flying from his mouth, "didn't any of you think to stop him?"

"Don't blame them, sir!" Pierce said angrily. "They didn't see me put it there."

"So this _was_ a deliberate attempt at undermining my dignity then!"

"Yes, it was. And please, leave the rest of them out of it; I wish to be given credit for my own crimes!"

Johnson and Pierce locked eyes from across the classroom. Johnson felt sweat dribble down his forehead.

"Is that so, Mr. Pierce?"

"Yes, it is _so_, Mr. Johnson. And you can take your jelly donut and stick it –"

"Strike three, Mr. Pierce!"

"–And as for your dignity," Pierce continued manically, "I'll have you know that if it could be any more undermined I would have to dig a hole for it in the ground, you pompous, foolish, self-satisfied fool –"

"Strike three, Mr. Pierce," Johnson repeated, calmly.

Pierce blanched, evidently taken aback by the abrupt change of volume and leveling of Johnson's voice. "Sir –"

"You heard me, Mr. Pierce."

For a moment there was silence. Pierce's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He opened his mouth once or twice as if to say something but seemed at a loss as to what that something would be.

"Sir –"

"Gather your things, your pride, your attitude, and your disrespect and go bother another teacher with it. I wash my hands of you."

"But – sir –"

"That is enough! I am up to _here_ with your shenanigans and simply refuse to take any more."

"Sir –"

"Take your things. You are dismissed."

"Sir –"

"You are dismissed, Mr. Pierce!"

Pierce's eyebrows furrowed. His mouth shut with a snap. He gathered his books with an exaggerated amount of ruffling pages and opening and closing of his desk drawer. Finally he stormed out and slammed the classroom door behind him, to the open-mouthed amazement of the class he left behind.

"Well?" Johnson snapped. Nearly every student started back to attention. "What are you staring at? Chapter Twelve, page one-seventy-nine!"

* * *

"Sir, wait –"

"I don't have to take orders from you, Pierce."

"Sir, please –"

"I told you yesterday that I'm finished with you. And I assure you that there is nothing more you could say on the matter."

"But, sir –"

"Have a _good_ _day_, Mr. Pierce." And shut the door in the boy's face.


	7. February - Part 2

Author's Note: I'm still not crazy about how this chapter came out. I had lots of snippets of dialog swimming around in my head but the end result came out sort of disjointed. But after multiple re-reads I've decided there's not much more I could do and I might as well just post it. Ah well.

* * *

February - Part 2

* * *

Johnson had had a very tiring day.

It was now a week and a half since his and Pierce's little episode and he was thankful to say that Pierce seemed to have given in to the inevitable and finally left him alone. But Johnson couldn't help but admit that his latest Anatomy and Physiology class had seemed oddly…empty without Pierce sitting in the front row with a grin spreading across his lips. More than once Johnson had had to catch himself from whirling around, his brain tricking himself into believing he'd heard Pierce muttering something behind his back.

Besides that, there had been a very trying staff meeting early in the morning. Johnson had also forgotten that he had a pile of worksheets he had yet to grade and were due back from him the next morning. He also had a great deal of bills he had to get to when he got home, not to mention the new window he had to put in, as he'd smashed his old one trying to get back into his house.

Johnson put down his pen and leaned his forehead against his palms, checking his clock to see there were still thirty minutes left in the day and wondering how much trouble he might get into for bailing out of the building early.

He heard shuffling footsteps outside his closed office door, not for the first time. Someone sounded as though they had been pacing the hallway for the better part of an hour now.

Johnson sighed irritable and shoved himself to his feet, going to the door to tell whoever it was doing it to stop, please, before Johnson went insane.

Johnson shoved the door open with a creak and Benjamin Pierce paused in his pacing to look up, shocked at Johnson's sudden appearance.

"Mr. Pierce," said Johnson, leaning against the frame of his open door, "and why is it you're not in class?"

_Maybe I was kicked out of another one_. But, mercifully, the boy restrained himself. "Free period, sir."

"You are an original, Mr. Pierce; I'll give you that," Johnson found himself having to force a frown on his face. "Not many students would think to play hooky while staying in the school building."

Pierce looked unsure whether or not he was supposed to smile.

"Well," said Johnson, remembering he was supposed to be angry at Pierce and should act accordingly, "what is it you want?"

Pierce looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable, "Sir, about what happened last week –"

"I believe I've made myself perfectly clear that that subject is closed," said Johnson flatly.

"But, sir –"

"Closed as in shall not be again opened, Mr. Pierce."

"Can't we just talk about it?"

Johnson sighed.

He had had a very tiring day.

He had been looking forward to finishing up with his work here and getting home to finish up with his work there and then crash on his sofa with a good, long, and boring book.

"Very well, Mr. Pierce, I give you two minutes to present your case." He stepped aside to allow Pierce into his office. There was a moment of very pressing silence in which Pierce evidently was trying to collect himself. He seemed surprised that Johnson had, in fact, allowed him in.

To break the silence, Johnson mused, "I have to say I'm surprised I haven't received a letter from your father, insisting I reinstate you in my class."

Pierce's face turned dark red, something Johnson had never seen before.

"Dad wouldn't do something like that. He…suggested I come to you and try to work things out on my own."

Johnson paused, honestly surprised. Perhaps he had underestimated the elder Mr. Pierce.

"Well?" Johnson prompted.

Pierce kicked himself into motion, floundering for his case, "Exhibit A, sir: I honestly didn't believe you would get that angry after sitting on a jelly donut."

"Yes, because sitting on jelly donuts is a perfectly amusing aspect of everyday life, moreover, one I am well acquainted with. I suppose you thought I might simply laugh it off."

"It was supposed to be a joke."

"So you're telling me I overreacted?"

From the look on the boy's face, Johnson could tell Pierce was thinking a very solid _yes_. The boy hesitated, "Compared to my other stunts I hardly think a jelly donut would warrant a third strike."

"It was not _compared_, Mr. Pierce, but rather a collectivization of all your other stunts."

"Which were all jokes in the first place. They were supposed to make people laugh."

"Am I laughing?"

Pierce squinted, "Maybe in your subconscious mind you are. After all, everyone has a humerus bone."

"If this is your attempt at 'working things out' than let me assure you that you are off to a very poor start."

Pierce frowned. "Look, if I said I was sorry about the gigantic stain on your pants, would that help?"

Johnson frowned, "No. No, I don't think it would, Mr. Pierce."

"Saying sorry means one accepts responsibility for one's actions. Subsequently, I plead guilty and throw myself on the mercy of the court," said Pierce, and gave a winning smile.

Johnson was unmoved.

"You never learn do you, Mr. Pierce?" The boy's smile slid off his face. "Perhaps it might help if I told you just exactly what your charges are."

"I'm sure you could use all the help you can get," Pierce quipped.

"I believe I've told you all this before, but perhaps now it might finally penetrate your thick skull, given what a dire situation you've gotten yourself into." Johnson knitted his fingers tightly together.

"First, you are disruptive to both mine and the concentration of the students around you. You may think what I teach borderlines common knowledge, but, I assure you, your fellow classmates do _not_. Therefore, your actions demonstrate an attitude of indifference toward their education." Johnson could feel his words slipping effortlessly off his tongue. Pierce's face grew steadily stonier.

"Secondly, I am your teacher and deserve respect. It does not matter how good of a teacher I am. It does not matter if I treat my students fairly – or what your preconceived notions of _fairly_ are. All that matters is that I have been placed in a position of authority above you and subsequently deserve the respect that that position warrants. I am not asking you to like me. In fact, that notion would be rather abhorrent. I am simply asking that you stifle your impulsive dislike until you are out of my classroom.

"And lastly –" Johnson raised his voice slightly because Pierce was making signs to interrupt. "You have shown an utter and unforgivable lack of respect toward the subject I represent, which I find to be baffling considering your father's status in the town. Now that you know your charges, may I ask what you have to say for yourself, Mr. Pierce? Keeping in mind that however strong your argument is, I am under no obligation to take you and your attitude back into my class."

Johnson took a deep breath to refill his lungs. Pierce's jaw was set. His eyes gleamed with simmering anger.

"I've already said everything I've come to say," he said stiffly. "I'll say I'm sorry that you don't think I'm funny and I'm sorry about the donut –"

"Darn it! Weren't you listening? This isn't about the jelly donut!" Johnson roared.

Pierce jumped in surprise but recovered himself quickly. He said angrily, and rather wildly "And weren't _you_ listening? I said I was sorry! Of course this isn't about the stupid donut! I'm sorry I messed up enough to get myself kicked out of your class! I'm sorry if you think I've been disruptive and distracted the other students! I'm sorry you don't like me and I'm sorry that I don't like you! I'm darned sorry about everything, okay? But I'll be darned before I say I'm sorry for insulting your overblown pride because, frankly, I don't think you deserve that respect you're always complaining about."

"That was about the worst rehearsed apology I have ever heard in my long, sad history of hearing apologies," said Johnson, frowning. "And I believe your two minutes are up, Mr. Pierce."

Pierce blanched. He apparently seemed to realize just how off-course his visit had went.

"Wait, sir. I – please, forget what I just said. Really, I just need to make it through five more months. Then you can be shot of me forever –"

"You have yet to address why I should let you back into my class. What possible interest could be in it for me? And please, refrain from yelling. I'm afraid we might attract the attention of the people on the other side of town."

_I promise I'll be nice if you promise to be smarter_. Johnson could practically see the retort swim to the forefront of Pierce's mind. The boy snapped his mouth shut as though he was afraid he had spoken it out loud.

Pierce laughed, rather desperately. "I can't think of any reason, sir."

Johnson had not been expecting that bit of wavering honesty. _One more minute, then._

"Just – just," Pierce fumbled for something else to say. "I don't know if this was my fault or your fault –" _subtract twenty seconds_ – "but if I promise from now on that I'll be nice –" _subtract ten seconds_ "– I mean – can't you see that I'm borderline admitting I've been a complete jerk?" _add ten seconds_ "Please, Mr. Scrooge, can't I have one more chance? I'm trying to avoid getting down on my knees and begging here."

Johnson's eyebrows had been steadily rising on his forehead. Pierce apparently noticed and seemed to think his cause was lost. He stopped talking.

"Thank you, Mr. Pierce," said Johnson. "Although that was, unfortunately, not much better."

Pierce frowned again, evidently unaccustomed to have his charm and clever word syntax disregarded.

Johnson collected the worksheets scattered across his desk. "Your father told me you want to be a doctor, Mr. Pierce."

"Yes, sir," Pierce answered stiffly, sounding befuddled and as though he hadn't a clue where Johnson was going with this but already resented him for it.

"And you do realize becoming a doctor takes hard work and dedication, Mr. Pierce, not to mention strict adherence to the rules?"

"Yes, sir." _Duh_, sir.

"Further, you do realize a passing grade in your high school Anatomy and Physiology class would be – not essential – but greatly significant in your acceptance into medical school?"

"Yes, sir."

Johnson tried to remember that he, too, had once been a teenager. Perhaps not quite as ignorant as Pierce was but certainly…inexperienced. He had once, too, been idealistic and temperamental, believed himself to be righteously misunderstood. Certainly not to the same degree as Pierce but with definite similarities. Johnson tried to remember this.

But that had been years ago, back when Johnson had been an optimistic medical student who was going to change the world. Subsequently he both flunked out of medical school and never got around to changing the world, not even having much of an impact on his small corner of it.

He had sulked for a semester before pushing himself back to his feet and back to school to earn a degree in Biology. He'd landed in teaching because he needed to earn money, not because he particularly relished the thought of holding captivated all those young minds. In fact, he rather potently disliked children.

Johnson had since developed a well-rounded respect for doctors, and the work it had taken them to achieve their profession. Johnson had also realized it took a special calling to become a doctor, and one he apparently didn't have. One he doubted Pierce had as well. For starters, the boy was all-too incapable of shutting away his emotions.

Johnson stood, indicating Pierce should do the same.

"Very well, Mr. Pierce." But, then again, Pierce certainly had a knack for surprising people. "I believe this ballgame just went into extra innings. You are dismissed."

Pierce blinked. His jaw fell open as if he was going to say something but apparently thought better of it. He stood there for a moment in blank disbelief and Johnson felt rather proud of himself, managing to pull something over on the notorious Benjamin Pierce. Finally, the boy seemed to realize he'd been dismissed and moved to leave.

He paused jerkily at the door. Hesitantly, as though the words had put up a fight coming up his esophagus, he said, "Thank you, sir."

Pierce disappeared in the hallway, leaving an abrupt silence in his wake.

Johnson sighed. "You're welcome, Mr. Pierce."


	8. March

Author's Note: Well, I though it about time to update. This was originally going to be a nice, short, filler chapter with lots of jokes to lighten the mood, but then I re-watched the episode "The Cave" and was reminded about Hawkeye's claustrophobia, and I though "hmm, wouldn't that be interesting to incorporate that?" not just for added drama but I thought it would be important for Johnson to witness a different, more vulnerable side of Hawkeye to perhaps stimulate a more sympathetic image of the boy.

Unfortunately, however, thrusting a scene that I hadn't planned unexpectedly into the plot led to unforeseen problems in the rest of the story (I know, shocking, right?), which led to this extended pause in updates as I tried to sort that all out. Anyway, I believe I've got the rest of the story figured out, and without any more rambling from me, please continue and enjoy:

* * *

March

* * *

"Remove the glasses, please, Mr. Pierce," Johnson said wearily, not sparing Pierce a second glance.

"But, sir, I need these to see."

"Well then, I apologize, Mr. Pierce, but you will have to suffer through the rest of this class until your father can buy you an acceptable pair."

Pierce sighed loudly and dramatically but Johnson knew the boy had complied, slipping off the gaudy pair of glasses attached to a plastic nose and mustache and tucking them neatly away into his desk.

When Johnson turned back around, a hasty diagram scrawled on the blackboard behind him, Pierce was making a show of squinting at the board as though he couldn't make it out. He asked his neighbor if he could read it off to him.

"Mr. Pierce," said Johnson, "have you ever considered joining the Drama Club? I think they could be especially interested in some of your…talents."

"I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member," said Pierce, furrowing his eyebrows in faux indignation.

Johnson sighed and pushed on, "As you can see here, I've drawn a diagram of the human cell. I would like you all to take out a clean sheet of paper and – _yes_, Mr. Pierce?"

Pierce was waving his hand in the air, "It doesn't look very much like a human cell, sir – the nucleus is all unbalanced –"

"Please, refrain from making fun of my art, Mr. Pierce."

Pierce shrugged, "Well, Art is Art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now you tell me what you know."

"Pierce," said Johnson, pinching his the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer-finger. "You certainly try my patience."

"Thank you, sir. You must try mine sometime," said Pierce, but mercifully settled down with a lingering grin. Johnson marveled at the newfound compliance that seemed to have developed between Pierce and he. If he didn't know better he might call it borderline respect.

Johnson had to admit that Pierce seemed to be a bit…mellower since their discussion in Johnson's office. By no means had his antics completely stopped, but now his humor seemed to lack the hostile edge it used to contain when directed at Johnson. Johnson was forced to conclude, almost painfully, that Pierce could be honestly funny at times, but he still wished the boy wouldn't make such a try at it in Johnson's classroom.

"Yes, well," said Johnson, "I will ask you each to take out a clean sheet of paper and clear your desk. Label as many of the organelles as you can in ten minutes time –"

"Ten minutes. We have ten minutes. Anyone raising to eleven?" said Pierce.

"Mr. Pierce…."

"Mr. Johnson, you can't raise your own bid."

"Thank you, Mr. Pierce. That will be enough. Your time begins…now."

Pierce shuffled his possessions on his desk and bowed over a blank sheet of paper, smirk untidily hidden on his face.

* * *

Johnson was half-way to his car in the parking lot when he realized he'd left his briefcase in his classroom. He hurried back through the deserted school's hallways and reached the door. He fished in his pocket for the key to the classroom, put it to the knob, and realized the door was, in fact, unlocked.

Johnson frowned. The door was not supposed to be unlocked. He jiggled the doorknob and pushed open the door, stepped forward, and paused.

Inside, suddenly bathed with light, the two students froze and turned to face him. Miss Lily McPherson turned a deep red, and pushed away from Mr. Pierce, who was looking caught-in-the-act but vaguely amused.

"Hello, sir, fancy meeting you here."

Johnson frowned, "Indeed, Mr. Pierce."

Miss McPherson smoothed her skirt with shaking hands. She cast Pierce a pained look of farewell, and squeezed passed Johnson in the doorway, chin straight as though trying to save her ruffled dignity, but avoiding Johnson's eyes.

"Hiya, Teach," said Pierce, grinning. Pierce must have received the message Johnson wanted to be pass through his frown, for his hastily added, "I mean – sir."

Johnson thought that if there was anything viler than being Pierce's enemy, perhaps it would be to be the boy's friend.

"Hello, Mr. Pierce." He crossed his arms.

Pierce faltered, "Listen, Mr. Johnson – you're not going to report us, are you? I mean – we weren't breaking any rules and Lily – well, you know, I don't want to impede upon her honor."

"You are aware that breaking into a locked classroom after school has been dismissed is, in fact, under the same category of "breaking the rules", aren't you?"

Pierce shrugged. "I didn't break in. None of the locks even work on these doors."

Johnson wondered how Pierce knew that, and then decided that he honestly didn't want to know.

"And being out of bounds doesn't concern you?"

"I couldn't help it, sir, someone had locked us in."

Johnson rolled his eyes. He walked over to the desk, searching for his briefcase but didn't find it. He thought that perhaps he had left it in the hallway outside and the janitor had picked it up and brought it to the lost-and-found box in the supply closet. He left the classroom, pursuing the idea.

Pierce followed, "Really, Mr. Johnson, please don't report us. It won't happen again, I promise."

Before he could stop himself, Johnson snorted.

"You doubt my word? I am deeply wounded, sir," said Pierce, laying his hands across his heart. He continued doggedly after Johnson.

Pierce seemed to have bypassed that awkward phase when teenage boys suddenly woke up to find their legs and arms larger in proportion to their torsos and would subsequently flop through the hallways with too-large feet and too-tall heads. Pierce moved with a sort of casual, loping grace.

"Besides," the boy insisted, "we shouldn't get in trouble for staying _after_ school. We were studying."

They had reached the supply closet. Johnson opened the door and stepped inside. Pierce stepped in after him.

"I doubt very much that what you and Miss McPherson were doing had anything to do with education."

"I found it very educational," said Pierce.

Johnson reached to the top shelf for the cardboard box that held the lost-and-found objects and ruffled through the assorted sweatshirts, books, and water bottles, not discovering his briefcase.

"What are you looking for?" said Pierce.

"Some peace and quiet, Mr. Pierce."

"Was that a _joke_, Mr. Johnson?" the boy sounded absolutely delighted.

Johnson found himself almost uncomfortable under the boy's praise.

Pierce leaned over and nicked a coin purse.

"Is that yours?" said Johnson.

"It is now."

"Put it back, Mr. Pierce."

Pierce grinned and did as Johnson asked. He backed up to get out of the closet, bumped into a broom which clattered against the hinges of the door. The door swung shut with a creak and hit the frame with a very final sounded snap.

Johnson looked over his shoulder after he'd put the cardboard box back on the shelf, wondering where on earth his briefcase could be, and saw that Pierce was twisting the doorknob, apparently making a show of not being able to get out.

"Mr. Pierce," said Johnson, feeling tired and frustrated and as if he would like to go home, "as humorous as you might think locking me in the closet is…."

Johnson felt his voice fade away as he looked back at Pierce. He felt his eyebrows furrow. The boy seemed to have frozen; his face had gone pale and eyes had gone wide.

"Pierce, are you quite –"

"Mr. Johnson, I have to get out of here _now_," said Pierce abruptly, diving for the doorknob again.

"Mr. Pierce, what is the matter –?"

Pierce was twisting the doorknob. When nothing happened, he proceeded to yank on it as if the very essence of life and death stood between him getting out of the closet.

"_Now_," the boy insisted, the pitch of his voice rising. "I have to get out of this place right now!"

Johnson heard Pierce's breathing accelerate. Beads of sweat dripped on the boy's hairline. Johnson realized with a start that the boy was on his way to hyperventilating.

"Pierce, calm down!"

Pierce was still pulling on the doorknob. It didn't seem to be turning. "Do the walls seem to be closing in on us or is it just me?" Johnson moved to get to the doorknob, wanting to try his hand at turning it.

"Mr. Pierce, really, there's nothing to –"

Pierce flinched violently away from him, making Johnson start. "Don't crowd me, please! Don't look now but there's one man too many in this room and I think it might be you."

"Mr. Pierce, take a deep breath. Really, there's no reason –"

"I can't," Pierce said frantically, flailing his arms. "I can't breathe! Don't – there's not enough air…."

"Mr. Pierce, really, of all the ridiculous –"

"I know!" Pierce said suddenly, eyes wide and terrified and pleading. Johnson realized the boy was shaking. "It's just a stupid, irrational fear, I know! But I – Mr. Johnson, really, I have to get out of here. The walls are – they're getting closer. Can't you feel that?"

"Pierce," said Johnson awkwardly, helplessly. He had immediately recognized the signs of claustrophobia, of course, but he was completely taken off-guard. He had never imagined that Pierce – the boy had always seemed so sturdy, somehow, so capable of pushing away something as unfounded as this…. Johnson didn't know what he was supposed to do.

"Look, Mr. Pierce, calm down. There really isn't anything to be afraid of. Certainly it's dark in here, yes, we appear to be locked in, a bit of a tight fit maybe –"

Pierce groaned. He shut his eyes tightly and clapped his hands over his ears, as if trying to shut out the sound of Johnson's voice. "Thank you, sir, but you _aren't helping_! Now excuse me as I go quietly and methodically _insane!_ I'm – trying to keep my brain from leaking out of my ears –"

Johnson pushed passed the boy to the door, deciding that standing there and talking was not going to help anything. Besides, Pierce seemed to have gone very quickly to the realms beyond reasoning. Johnson jiggled the doorknob. He listened for the click of the lock but nothing happened.

"Honestly," said Johnson, useless fumbling with the handle quickly turning into irritation. "Of all the confounded – a child of five should be able to do this –"

"Quick, send someone to fetch a child of five," said Pierce weakly. He sunk to the floor in the corner, pulling his knees tightly to his chest. He was rocking back and forth and rambling to himself. Johnson was really – really quite concerned.

"Completely irrational," said Pierce. "Totally fine. Deep breaths. Not going to run out of air. Something touched me! They're closing in on me! Make-it-stop-make-it-stop-make-it-stop –"

"Pierce!" Johnson had not meant to yell, but found that his own heart was pattering uncomfortably fast between his ribs. "Get a hold on yourself! We are in a closet in the school. The walls are not closing in on you! Someone will be here in a moment to see that we are freed."

"Mr. Johnson! Don't breathe so hard you're going to use up all the air!"

Johnson felt his jaw fall open. He honestly – of all the – _how_ had he gotten himself into this?

Pierce stopped muttering but continued to rock back and forth on his heels, breathing uneven and eyes screwed shut.

"Did you know that when I was in fifth grade someone decided it might be funny to stuff me into a locker," said Pierce rapidly. His voice was breathy and he was still shaking.

"What?" Johnson snapped, turning only briefly away from the doorknob he was still trying to get to turn.

"I was this scrawny little kid then and way too easy to push around so they all thought it was funny to hear how loudly I screamed when they wouldn't let me out again and – and I don't know, I guess they got in trouble with the principal but I – didn't want to come into school again but Dad made me anyway and – and, Mr. Johnson, I honestly think I'm going to throw up or stop breathing or something cause I – I can't feel my fingers anymore and this is – really, this is totally irrational. I know. I know it doesn't make any sense but I – Oh, I think I'm going to be sick –"

"Pierce!" Johnson awkwardly probed his mind for something reassuring to say. He really hadn't ever been very good at this. "You – honestly you're going to be fine. Take it from me, the walls aren't closing in on us. There's a space beneath the door that lets in air. Really, everything is perfectly all right –"

The door swung open, and standing in the gap was a very befuddled looking janitor.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked.

Johnson and Pierce were bathed in light from the hallway. Pierce gasped air as though he had just broken the surface of a lake and his eyes flew open. He floundered to his feet and pushed passed Johnson to get out of the closet.

Pierce rushed away, feet clattering on the tile floors, perhaps to find the nearest bathroom to throw up. Johnson felt a curious impulse to go after the boy. He checked it off as a stifled teacher instinct to make sure his student was alright, but the truth of the matter was that he was genuinely concerned.

He had never seen the boy as anything other than calm, collected, and sharing a grin about it, and seeing him frantic and restless had been, frankly, disturbing. Johnson felt as though he had witnessed something indecent, that he had trespassed upon a private and secret part of the boy that he'd had no right to. He decided that he was probably the last person on earth Pierce wanted to see right now, and with a word of thanks and dismissal to the janitor, turned down the hall to the front door of the school, allowing Pierce the time and space he'd need to compose himself.

* * *

Ending Note: If some of the jokes were funnier in this chapter than in others, it's because I stole most of them from the Marx Brothers. Seeing as Groucho is one of Hawkeye's idols, I thought it was about time he made more of an appearance.

The next chapter might be another week or two coming. I've got it mostly worked out, but I'll be on vacation somewhere in the deep, dark, and mysterious realms between Wi-Fi connections and won't be able to get on this site to update.


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